


Glad You Made It

by bauer



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Mail Order Brides, Power Imbalance, Rimming, ish, very ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 04:26:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14686437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauer/pseuds/bauer
Summary: "You have a type," Alex said. Nicklas had scoffed at the time.Maybe so.





	Glad You Made It

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [this very NSFW video](http://bauerbump.tumblr.com/post/169126910442) about six months ago and it haunts me to this day, to the point I was like, "Do I even need to write this? Is the headcanon not enough?" Then I didn't work on this two days ago, and, well. Now I know not to start fics about people('s teams) in the playoffs anymore.
> 
> While I did mostly conceptualize this from a mail-order bride type of angle, it very much steers into the sex trafficking side of that whole situation. Nicky is a creep in this. Proceed with caution/enjoy!
> 
> Title from "Airport Song" by Guster.

André moves out on a mild February afternoon.

The process drags; it doesn’t seem like he’d truly packed beforehand, and him and Tom and Michael trickling in and out of Nicklas’ house, then shutting themselves in André’s room, yells echoing through the halls.

Nicklas could help. Occasionally, he goes and stands in a corner, supervising, but mostly he leaves them to it.

It’s not like he blames André for going. Young guys, they have their own lives to live, mistakes to make. Plenty of mistakes. Nicklas just thought André would be staying a little longer.

Before the three pile into the car and speed off into Arlington, André wraps his spindly, tanned arms around Nicklas and promises, “Don’t worry, you’re still my Papa, I’ll come back.”

Nicklas wants to push André onto the floor, twist his arm behind him, say _don’t leave, you’re not allowed, stay._

Instead, he swats at André and says, “Tell me when you’ve moved in, you can buy me dinner as a thank you.”

 

⛓

 

Nicklas doesn’t think of himself as someone who _knows people,_ but it only takes one half-joke for everything to start crystallizing into reality.

 

⛓

 

The kid flies in on a hazy, heavy sort of day that feels like the air  itself is trying to drown the life out everyone in it. Dulles exists in sharp contrast, people in black business suits buzzing around until they get whisked away in black cars. Lucas—according to the website—looks young, standing there in a gray t-shirt, phone in hand, lip between his teeth, eyes scanning the terminal.

Nicklas could turn around. It’d probably be a mess, but not as big a mess as what he actually does, which his pull out his own phone and send his license plate number, car model, and the direction _You can put your luggage in the back._

He watches as Lucas’ eyes snap down to his phone, then jump to Nicklas’ SUV. Lucas hesitates for a long moment, then starts stumbling forward, like he’s caught in the same inevitability. His eyes keep flickering from the license plate to the driver’s seat as he circles behind the car, pops open the trunk. Through the rearview mirror, Nicklas can make out the narrow set of his shoulders, and the CCM printed across the side of his duffel bag. A bubble of hysteric laughter tries to claw up Nicklas’ throat, but he swallows it back down.

Lucas catches him looking. He cuts his eyes forward, humiliated, and feels his skin get red and hot, despite the frigid air blowing out of the vents.

Nicklas can, is the thing—what’s the point of going through with all this, if Nicklas can’t even look at Lucas when he wants?—so he does, when Lucas slides carefully into the passenger seat. His features are fine, a sharp nose, jaw, mouth. Gangly elbows. Nicklas tries to remember being that young, fresh rookies.

“How old are you?”

It comes out accusatory.

“Eighteen,” Lucas says slowly. He’s wide-eyed and fidgety. Nervous. “I have to be, for the agency. You saw my photos before I came.”

It comes out accusatory, too. _You liked what you saw._

Nicklas had.

 

 

 

The phone is a burner with only Nicklas’ number on it. No laptop. The duffel bag has nothing but clothes.

“Um,” Lucas says. “Do you want to go through it, or—”

“What? No. Just put in it in your room.” Nicklas shows Lucas his room. It’s different than the one he’d had André in, since André was still somewhat possessive of it. Plus, Nicklas wasn’t sure how long Lucas would be staying there. His own bed is plenty big. It just seemed presumptuous to start out there.

But he could.

Nicklas watches Lucas start to unpack, considers leaving him too, decides against it. Lucas is awkward about it, alternating between careful folding and shoving clothes into drawers until they barely close. He doesn’t look up until it’s finished, eyes flickering around where Nicklas’ standing.

“I, uh, it’s been a long day for me, so, do you mind if I—freshen up?” A blush spreads across Lucas’ face as he talks, voice cracking.

Hot coals roll in Nicklas’ stomach. He gestures to the en suite. It’s not as nice as the master, but it’ll do. “There should be soap and shit already in there.”

Lucas nods and practically walks sideways behind the door.

This shouldn’t be happening. Nicklas feels himself throbbing, in his stomach and behind his eyes, from how unreal it is, to have a strange teenager in his house who asks before taking a shower. His dick feels heavy and hot in his shorts. He drops onto the corner of his bed—Lucas’ bed—and cradles his head in his hands. Even within the closed, climate-controlled system of his home, the air feels thick, heavy across his across shoulders.

The sound of a running shower breaks through. Nicklas’ fingers are tingling. He curls them in, digs his nails into his palms.

Lucas hadn’t locked the door behind him. Good. The agency isn’t in the business of oversight, but it gave recommendations to ease the transition. Setting up guidelines had been chief among them. Nicklas things that might be his first: _no locks, no hiding._

Steam has fogged up the usually-clear glass door to the shower. Nicklas could turn on the fans Lucas either missed or ignored, but he doesn’t. Likes the hazy heat of it. Only a few seconds and his shirt’s clinging as he strips it off his back, over his head, drops it on the floor. He kicks his shorts off into the same pile. Lucas is watching, maybe, but he doesn’t move to wipe away the fog.

Lucas is stung-pink from his cheeks down. The water burns uncomfortably hot against the soles of Nicklas’ feet, where it splashes against his shoulders. Deep blue eyes just watch as Nicklas nudges them both out of the spray. He lets himself look back. Smooth skin over a thin frame.

Eighteen. Jesus.

Nicklas leaves one hand firm on Lucas’ shoulder, rises the other to twist in darkened brown hair, tightening until Lucas winces, stretches his neck out.

“Do you know who I am?” Nicklas asks. Lucas makes a small, uncertain noise in response. He looks nervous. “Be honest.”

Lucas swallows. “Yeah. I—yeah,” he breathes. Nicklas can feel his shoulders rising and falling as he breathes harder. He lets his hand slide lower, over Lucas’ heart, and squeezes at the bare baby fat there, just to feel it, before pinching a small, dark nipple between his fingers until Lucas squirms, trying to get away. Nicklas only lets go once he settles, panting through it, letting Nicklas’ thumb massage the pain away.

“Then you know,” Nicklas says. “It’s not like I want to lock you away in here or anything. But I needed something discrete.” _Someone who wouldn’t leave,_ he doesn’t say, because he knows it would sound pathetic and dramatic in his own ears.

Besides, Nicklas knows that doesn’t really comes close to why someone would acquire a teenager off the internet. He’s guilty, not stupid.

Nicklas didn’t ask, doesn’t want to know if Lucas is a virgin, but he squirms through Nicklas licking into his mouth, feeling along his torso—sturdy, like he played—and wrapping a hand around his hard dick. It feels blood-hot and slick at the head, beyond the wet haze they’re surrounded in. It’s a nice dick, long and thick enough, uncut, but Nicklas knew all of that beforehand. Having it in his grasp feels more real, firming up the shivery knots that have been in his stomach since he clicked **Agreed** on that website. Nicklas fingers at the slit, just because he can, to feel Lucas’ precome cling to his finger.

Lucas is gasping against Nicklas’ neck. He tightens his grip in Lucas’ hair again, dragging him back upright before lowering his hand to Lucas’ neck. He doesn’t squeeze too hard, just enough to hold him in place, have Lucas at attention as Nicklas looks into his eyes.

“You know this is my dick now?” Nicklas asks. He hadn’t thought it was possible to Lucas to flush deeper. “You know I can do whatever I want?” Lucas nods, wide-eyed. His dick twitched. “Turn around.”

Nicklas doesn’t wait for Lucas to move. He likes the feel of a willing body going where he pushes it, staying where he holds it. Lucas braces himself with both hands against the shower wall once Nicklas has him up against it, hips pulled back and tipped upward. His legs seem wobbly, even though it’s not a particularly straining position and the floor is slip-proof. Nicklas sympathizes. Still, he thinks Lucas will settle in well enough. They have plenty of time to work with.

It’s not like Nicklas cut himself off leading up to Lucas’ arrival, but he feels wound up, impatient. He only lets himself run his hands down Lucas’s back once before falling to his ass, giving him a moment to adjust before thumbing him open. He can feel Lucas consciously relax beneath him.

If Nicklas was a slightly more oblivious person, he’d think Lucas has no reason to be nervous. His hole is a perfect soft pink. Hairless.

Nicklas must stand there too long just looking, because Lucas says, “They… before they sent me out—”

He huffs hard, presses himself more fully against the wall. Nicklas hums soothingly.

“You look good like this,” Nicklas says. Maybe another guideline to have—how would he go about that? Call people in-house? It’d be easier, once he could trust Lucas with a credit card, an American license. But he knew that would probably be dangerous, too soon.

Lucas is so tight under Nicklas’ fingers. Later, probably night, Nicklas will lay Lucas out on his bed, spread him out wide and really crack him open. For now, Nicklas kneels down. The floor feels shitty against his knees, but it’s worth it to be able to truly _look_ at Lucas where he maybe doesn’t want Nicklas to but can’t do anything about. He’s so, so sweet.

Nicklas has to put some strength in making sure Lucas doesn’t jerk away, yowling. He tenses beneath Nicklas’ hands, his tongue, panting and squirming. His ass is practically pulsating, and Nicklas knows he can’t help it all. He licks and sucks soothingly along Lucas’ rim, practically massaging the hardness out of his muscles, until his thighs are soft under Nicklas’ hands and Nicklas can fuck his tongue into the core of him, just barely, but it’s enough. He reaches a hand around, squeezing at Lucas’ still-hard cock, possessive and proud.

His jaw aches and chest clenches from not breathing before Nicklas really tries to get Lucas off, wrings him out quickly from both ends, feels and hears it vibrating off the bathroom walls.

Nicklas keeps a grip on Lucas’ hip as he stands. He’s so hard he feels agitated; months of planning and waiting and anxiety and now, finally, Lucas is in front of Nicklas, _just_ for him. It barely takes a nudge for Lucas to turn his head, and he still can’t look at Nicklas for a full second but he takes his come-covered fingers into his mouth without hesitation.

His spit dries quick, but it hardly matters. Nicklas jerks himself hard, head nudging against Lucas hole, just barely, almost in. All his, for the foreseeable future.

He ends up washing his own come off of Lucas, once he feels like it. Then he washes Lucas’ hair, and the rest of him, too, because he feels like it. At some point, Lucas starts looking at him, truly looking at him, for the first time. It reminds Nicklas of the kids—real kids, a lot younger than Lucas—that they get at camps or signings who get so overwhelmed being around the team that they don’t even know what to make of it, can’t discern good from bad.

Nicklas can work with that.

 

 


End file.
